


Convert (n.)

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The priest gives in to his temptations, words begging for forgiveness falling from his lips eventually melting away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convert (n.)

“Who is your god, then? Hm?”

Floki flicked his tongue to the shell of Aethelstan’s ear, bare chest against the itchy fabric of the monk’s vestments. Floki’s hands, dirtied with kohl, pinned Aesthlestan’s to the wall. His sharp grin grew wide with the breath he heard the man take.

“M-my Lord and Savior,” breathed Aethelstan, staring at the cold stone wall. “Forgive me for my sins. H-have pity on me, and… ah!”

Floki unkindly bit the back of the man’s neck.

“And…! Take away my transgressions. Cleanse me of this guilt and let me be pure…”

The boat-builder ran his tongue, flat, along Aethelstan’s neck, not caring about how long his hair had gotten. His teeth grazed, his nose just touching the short new hairs along Aethelstan’s nape. He pointedly gestured his hand to the crucifix nested against the way before their bodies.

“And who is he?” He asked mockingly. Aethelstan knew he didn’t give a damn about his God.

“I admit my shameful deed. Your sentence against me is just. I sin and do terrible things…”

“Hmm…”

Floki hummed contently. He ran his hands up Aethelstan’s wrists and arms, feeling over the goosebumps along his skin, the sleeves rolling up somewhat. Aethelstan dared not move. The heathen’s hands came to the monk’s shoulders and ran smoothly down his clothed sides and up his front, untucking part of the vestments from their belt.

“What does he say? Does he even reply?” Floki’s tone did not waver. He laughed through his nose, somewhat shrill.

Aethelstan closed his eyes and swallowed.

“Create in me a heart anew, for I am now a sinner.”

“And what does he do to sinners?”

Aethelstan wet his chapped lips, glancing back to the face that hovered so close to his cheek. He could feel Floki’s breath, the subtle musk of mead from their earlier festivities.

Floki stopped his hands and rested his chin on Aethelstan’s shoulder.

“We have a Hel too.”

“… I know this.”

“Yet you speak of Helheim. Not Hel.”

“If… you believe they are the same.”

“You always say _burn_ , priest. Helheim is a cold place of stone, void of emotion. Like this.”

Floki’s arms wrapped around the monk, holding him until his whole front was against the man’s back, gesturing with both his hands before holding him again.

“What is _your_ Hell like, then?”

His hands began to move again, one up the deep brown vestments, the other undoing the knot at Aethelstan’s belt. His felt his heart pound. This was a sin, and here he stood before the image of God. His eyes shut tight.

Floki jerked the knot free and forcibly turned Aethelstan to slam his back into the wall. He loomed over the shorter man, still wearing that same grin, dark khol around his eyes, winged down his cheeks. He lowered his head into a tilt.

“What is your Hell like, _priest_?” He hissed the final word, both his forearms pressed on either side of Aethelstan’s head. The crucifix had fallen to the ground along with the monk’s belt.

“I-it is a horrible place. It is where the throne of the Devil sits. The cowardly, the unbelieving, the murderers, the sexually immoral… those who practice magic arts, and all liars—their place will be in the fiery lake that consumes Hell’s entirety.”

Floki’s expression did not change, though he curiously tilted his head the other way to listen in the strange manner that he does. Aethelstan licked his dry lips once more – the firepit was creating smoke that made it just slightly hard to breathe. The Viking swopped down to peck his lips and tongue. Aethelstan jumped, to which Floki found enough amusement to laugh at him for. Floki kept his eyes on Aethelstan as he leaned over and picked up the fallen crucifix. He stood straight, but still close enough to the monk that he could smell the unique ocean salt of his musk. Floki, after a piercing stare, looked to the crucifix in his thin hands, toying with it and twirling it in his long fingers. He finally held it upright, fingers closed around the base, around the feet of Christ, before he took a curious lick at the wood. Aethelstan made a small noise, but it caught in his throat.

“This is what is precious to you?”

Aethelstan did not answer, only look to the figure then back to Floki’s light eyes and impish smile. He touched the crucifix to Aethelstan’s hair, brushing it back with one of the ends. His other hand lifted to touch the man’s cheek, callouses rough and scratchy against the man’s thickening stubble.

His laugh came in disjointedly with a higher pitch than most normal men. Aethelstan wondered if this creature was human at all for a moment. His thoughts wandered to the first time he heard of Ragnarök, the way his head felt fuzzy from the burnt herbs and the fur that danced around, the echoes of voices that told the story, but most of all, Floki hidden in the thick pelts of wolves, as time seemed so slow when he came around the monk, hands on either side, and slowly, very slowly, moved to his neck to bite him in place of Fenrir. Aethelstan swallowed back, the bob of his Adam’s apple caught Floki’s attention. He moved closer, repeating the action from that day – slowly moving closer, letting the crucifix fall to the floor, hands on the man’s shoulders, teeth sinking into the flesh at the dip of his shoulder. Aethelstan took a breath, fear and guilt melting as he tried to remember that day. The story of Ragnarök, the fight between a great wolf and a god performed before him, the feel of fur and pelts wrapped around him, warm and inviting. He closed his eyes, bringing Floki closer. His voice was distant, he didn’t hear what the Viking said.

“Father, forgive me…” He murmured.

“Our gods welcome you.”

Floki’s voice was gravel and smoke.

“Odin welcomes you.”

He bit the monk’s lip in a forceful kiss.

“Frigga welcomes you.”

He tugged away at Aethelstan’s vestments.

“Thor and Sig welcome you.”

His fuzzy face nuzzled against Aethelstan’s as he undid the knots at his trousers.

“ _Loki_ , welcomes you.”

Shirt mostly undone, trousers dropped, and a nude priest before him, Floki used both his hands to caress the monk’s face, neck, and push him against the wall harder. Aethelstan peered curiously into the Viking’s light eyes.

“Loki?”

“The Trickster. The Liar. Sometimes, a god of fire.”

Aethelstan stretched out his neck, lips parted, inviting warm lips and a none-too-kind tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> A warm up for another Floki/Aethelstan fic I'll try to get around to.


End file.
